


In My Blood

by SecondhandStockholm



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Band Family, Discussion of Abortion, Eating Disorders, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Lots of Crying, Mpreg, Or more like disordered eating, Self-Esteem Issues, Weight Issues, lots of hugs, not a specific diagnosis or anything
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2019-11-09 02:30:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17993147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondhandStockholm/pseuds/SecondhandStockholm
Summary: Roger was fucked. He knew that much.Had been for weeks, though he was just now discovering why. Clutched in his left hand was a white strip of plastic with a pink plus on it. On the counter to his right was three more, all with identical plusses.God, he was a fucking idiot.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For research I've been reading all the Queen mpregs I could find. If by chance any of those writers are reading this, you guys are the real MVPs. You're talented as hell, this is all cause of you. Keep on keeping on, guys. 
> 
> Anyway please enjoy the story, the entire thing was very enjoyable to write. I hope it's as enjoyable for you to read. :)

Roger was fucked. He knew that much. 

Had been for weeks, though he was just now discovering why. Clutched in his left hand was a white strip of plastic with a pink plus on it. On the counter to his right was three more, all with identical plusses.

God, he was a fucking idiot. 

Granted, plenty of people had sex with strangers. It made for a fun time with no worries about follow up the next day. And it wasn’t like this was a daily occurrence for him. The band had been celebrating following a successful set. Roger had been watching a drunk Freddie dragging along a considerably less drunk John to the dance floor with bemusement, when a tap on the shoulder had him turning face to face with a very handsome stranger. A few minutes passed and Roger was being fucked up against a wall in the club’s bathroom. Fifteen minutes later, Roger was back at his table, chatting with Brian about this and that. He spared the incident no more thought.

That was, until the dizziness came. Then the nausea. They seemed to plague him at the worst times, never when he was alone. Only ever in the presence of one or more of his bandmates. Like the time at breakfast he stood up from his chair and stumbled, causing Freddie’s chatter to stop as all three of his friends looked at him. Or the time during practice when he dropped his drumsticks and was unable to offer an explanation, as he was focusing on breathing through the sudden crippling wave of spinning. 

Though he managed to explain away his bouts of instability to Brian and Freddie, John remained unconvinced. Following Roger’s episode at rehearsal, John pulled the drummer aside for a talk, in which John asked in no uncertain terms whether or not Roger was sick. Roger swore his unwell bursts were sporadic and just as confusing to him as they must have been to the rest of the band. John frowned, momentarily lost in thought, before a thought colored his face. Roger was instantly on edge, John’s face seemed to pale with worry. John had promptly asked the last time Roger had sex, and whether he used protection. 

The conversation had bewildered Roger at first, leaving him thoroughly confused as to why his friend would ask such specific personal questions. Freddie? Sure. But this was unlike John. After deliberating for a moment longer, it dawned upon Roger why his friend had looked so concerned.

The whole band knew of Roger’s carrier status. He hardly gave it much thought, never considering it a very important aspect of his being. He liked girls and guys, thought he might settle down with someone one day and have a family. But that thought was so abstract in its concept that to Roger it might as well have been an impossibility.  
At that moment however, in the hallway of their flat with the faint sounds of Freddie and Brian’s conversation bleeding through the walls, he was thinking in much less abstract terms. 

That was how he found himself sitting on the floor of their tiny bathroom, trying to will away the oncoming panic attack. 

He was pulled from his thoughts by a soft knock at the door, followed by John’s equally soft voice.

“You doing alright in there, Rog?”

Roger didn’t trust his voice at the moment, so he remained silent. After knocking once more, John opened the door and was met with the pitiful sight of Roger staring up at him, eyes watery, with positive pregnancy tests scattered around the room. 

“Help me.” Roger managed, voice shaky.

“Oh, Rog.” John moved to Roger’s side, crouching down until they were face to face. He pulled Roger into a hug, letting the blonde boy bury his head into his shoulder, feeling the smaller boy’s frame shake with sobs. They stayed like that for a while, John rubbing Roger’s back and murmuring sweet nothings into his ear until he calmed down a bit. 

When he felt it was ok to pull back, John looked at Roger. He looked exhausted. 

‘Poor thing’, John thought, taking in the drummer’s hunched shoulders and tear-stained face. 

“Let’s get you in bed, love.” John offered Roger a hand. Roger stood up, sniffling and wiping his face. 

John gently pried the test from Roger’s hand and set in on the counter with the others. After guiding him to his bed, he covered Roger with a blanket. John perched on the edge of Roger’s bed, smoothing his hair back. Roger never admitted it aloud, but he adored the attention of his bandmates. Loved being dotted on and worried about. All of them knew this, and it was an unspoken way of living for the four of them. Roger was always looked after when he had a cold, given an extra blanket during movie nights, kissed on the forehead when sad. He particularly loved when his friends played with his hair, thus John lovingly stroking it away from his face. 

“What am I going to do, John?” Roger mumbled, half asleep. 

“I don’t know, love. That’s up to you.” John responded, still running his fingers through Roger’s bangs. 

“How am I going to tell Freddie and Brian?” John shushed him gently. 

“Get some rest, Rog. Don’t worry about that right now. We’ll figure that out later.” 

Roger sent a grateful look to his friend, the significance of the word “we” not lost on him. 

“Thank you Deaky.” Roger whispered, eyes closing. John squeezed his hand.

“Of course, love. Always.” 

Roger fell asleep to the soft sounds of John humming.

\--

When he awoke, he was alone. He blinked, face still feeling swollen from crying. Looking at his clock, he could tell it was almost suppertime. His stomach growled, protesting its lack of food.

Sitting up, Roger glanced towards his door, which was slightly ajar. He could just make out the silhouette of the bathroom door across the hall. The events of the day replayed in his mind. Knowing John, the pregnancy tests had been thrown away, out of sight. He swallowed as a pang of worry shot through him. Not just a bad dream, then.

Roger took a deep breath, steeling himself, and walked into the kitchen, where John and Brian were chatting, engaged in making dinner. 

“Oh, you’re up love!” Freddie’s voice dragged his attention away from the kitchen to the dining table, where the singer was sitting, notebook open in front of him. Brian and John both looked at Roger, smiles on their faces. 

Brian’s was typical. Fond, crooked. John’s was worried. His eyes were kind but in them he was asking Roger a question: “are you alright?”

Roger smiled back, though he doubted it was convincing. Sitting down next to Freddie, he turned his attention to the wood table in front of him, tracing the grain with his finger. 

“Why so quiet, Rog, hm? Something bouncing around in that pretty little head of yours?” Freddie inquired.

“I’m alright, Fred, just tired.” Roger knew this was a weak excuse, but he was preoccupied with his racing thoughts. John already knew. If he kept the...baby...fetus whatever it was, Freddie and Brian would find out soon enough. Even if he didn’t keep it, Roger had no reservations that his friends deserved to know. That was easier said than done.

And, in all fairness, Roger really was tired. Pregnancy was fucking draining, who knew? 

Eventually, Roger decided that telling his mates sooner rather than later was the best course of action. First, if they found out he had been keeping this from them, they would undoubtedly be hurt. Freddie wore his expressions on his sleeve, but he knew both Fred and Brian felt things deeply, and the last thing Roger wanted was for his friends to think he didn’t trust them enough to confide in them. Secondly, Roger was fucking terrified. He didn’t have the slightest clue what to do next, and he wanted his friends’ opinions. Moreover, he wanted their support. He wanted them to gather him up in their arms, kiss his worries away, tell him everything would be alright and that he wasn’t a complete fucking idiot for getting himself knocked up. Even just the knowledge that John knew- sweet, steadfast John who was always logical, always calm- and was sticking by him was a soothing balm on his panicked heart. 

Decision made, Roger took a deep breath, calling Brian and John from the kitchen. Brian and John soon appeared in his line of vision, eyes curious.

“What’s up, Rog?” Brian asked, standing in the threshold of the kitchen, John behind him. 

“I need to tell you all something. It’s big, and I can’t keep this to myself. I really need your help.” Despite his best attempts to keep a strong facade, Roger’s voice cracked, causing Brian and John to hurry over to the dining table, sitting across from Roger. John had clearly figured out what Roger was about to do, as he reached across the table for Roger’s hands, squeezing them comfortingly. Roger shot John a grateful smile, eyes full of tears.

“You’re worrying us now, darling, what’s going on?” Freddie asked, face full of concern to match his bandmates.

All attention now on Roger, the room was silent. Roger took another deep breath, looking at all his friends’ worried faces. 

“I’m pregnant.” 

The room remained silent, moment stretching on, Roger apprehensively glancing from Brian to Freddie, attempting to gauge their reactions. 

Finally, Freddie’s voice sprang to life, filling the room.

“A baby! Oh, Roger, you’re going to be a father! This is so exciting!” 

Freddie continued to babble on about nurseries and cribs and fucking clothes, and, at that, something in Roger broke. 

He couldn’t do this. Have a fucking baby, keep a fucking baby. Raise a fucking child, Jesus Christ, what the hell had he gotten himself into? Panic descended upon him, leaving Roger sitting in his chair, wracked with sobs he attempting to muffle with his palm. Tears spilled down his face, and he registered that Brian and John had gotten up from their chairs and crossed to Roger’s side. 

Freddie was oblivious, lost in his own world of colour schemes and baby showers. He was on to baby shoes when John’s voice shot out, like a whip, and silenced him with a sharp “Fred”.

Finally realizing that everyone had shifted to be by Roger, Freddie blinked. After a moment, Freddie gazed at Roger, tears covering his cheeks, shaking.

“Oh, darling.” Freddie hurried from his chair to crouch by Roger. John was on Roger’s other side, whispering gentle things into his ear in an attempt to calm the distraught blonde down. Brian was rubbing Roger’s back, face full of sympathy. 

The four remained that way for a while, Roger attempting to quiet his sobs before giving up and continuing to cry out his emotions. His friends remained by his side, all worried for him.

Eventually, Roger succumbed to the exhaustion that had been plaguing him all day, falling asleep against John’s shoulder. 

Brian, who had been stroking Roger’s hair, was the first to notice. Nudging John, and then Freddie, he nodded at the blonde. Picking him up, Brian momentarily left his bandmates, taking Roger back to his bedroom and setting him down in his bed. As he pulled the covers up around the sleeping drummer, he glanced at his stomach. Still flat, early days yet. Sighing, Brian secured the blankets around Roger, kissing his forehead before he left, gently closing the door behind him. 

Back in the dining room, John and Freddie were murmuring to each other, careful not to let their voices raise to a volume that might wake Roger. Brian joined them at the table, sitting with a sigh.

“Jesus Christ.” 

Freddie nodded his agreement to that, and John cleared his throat. 

“I was just telling Freddie that I’ve known since this morning. I made him take the tests, he wasn’t feeling well and it was worrying me. Roger told me he isn’t in a relationship with the father, it was a one time thing.” 

Brian nodded, trying to process what John was telling him. Roger was pregnant. Holy hell. Running a hand across his forehead, Brian thought about his blonde friend. Funny, kind, a sunny disposition and a fiery spirit that was effortlessly charming. He was a flirt, sure, but he had a big heart. Easily hurt. He could still hear his friend’s sobs, desperate, heaving. He had sounded devastated.

This was clearly not a happy occasion. 

“I am such a cunt.” Freddie said, eyes shining with tears that threatened to fall. “I just assumed he was going to keep the baby. God, he was so terrified, and I couldn’t even see it.”

“Come off it, Fred. It was an honest mistake. You know he won’t hold it against you. He’s just scared.” John, even the voice of reason, offered.

“I would be too, if I was pregnant at 20. Shit.” Freddie winced. 

The room was silent in agreement. All three men were thinking worriedly of their friend, asleep in the other room, tear tracks still drying on his face. The food was forgotten, had long gone cold in the kitchen. No one had an appetite anymore.

It was Brian who broke the silence. 

“Where the hell do we go from here?” 

Freddie seemed just as lost as Brian felt, but John, who had had more time to think the entire situation over, spoke.

“We support Roger. We are by his side no matter what he decides he’s going to do. He’s our friend first and foremost, we can’t let him think he’s alone in this.”

 

Both Brian and Freddie murmur their assent. With that, the three wish each other a good night and shuffle off to bed, thoughts preoccupied by the small blonde boy who’s just had his world turned upside down. 

\--

The next morning, Roger wanders into the kitchen and is met with the smell of bacon. The nausea that has been torturing him for weeks has thankfully decided to grant Roger a reprieve, and he actually feels hungry.

Sitting at the table, a plate is placed in front of the drummer, who looks up gratefully at the giver. Brian offers him a sincere smile, worry present around the edges. Roger smiles back, and thinks he could be the most prolific songwriter in the world and he still wouldn’t be able to put into words how much his friends’ support means to him. As he eats, he watches Freddie and John join from the living room. 

As he passes by, Freddie plants a kiss to the top of Roger’s head. Roger smiles into his eggs, blushing. 

“How are you, darling?” Freddie asks, sitting across from Roger. 

“I’m managing” is the honest reply. 

His friends’ eyes are understanding. 

‘They’re sticking around. They care.’ Roger reminds himself. 

Brian sits next to him, rubbing his back.

Roger clears his throat. “Thank you for your support. I’ll never be able to tell you how much it means…” He trails off, voice becoming choked up. Tears fill his eyes.

“I’m such an idiot, getting myself into this. I was a fucking stupid, reckless slut. I don’t deserve your kindness.” 

“Oh, love.” John exclaims, rushing over to gather Roger into a hug. “You didn’t do anything wrong. These things happen sometimes. It doesn’t mean you’re a bad person, or a slut. Sweetheart you are loved, and you will be okay.”

Roger nodded, unable to will himself to speak. He was still crying.

Eventually, he took a deep breath and looked up. Freddie and Brian were both looking like they wanted nothing more than to join John in squeezing Roger to death, but they were holding themselves back.

Roger bit his lip. “I thought about it this morning when I woke up. I can’t get an abortion. I don’t know why, something in my stupid fucking brain just tells me I can’t.” 

Roger is quiet as he watched the room process this. His friends are careful to guard their faces, lest they upset Roger again.

“But I can’t have a baby. Raise a child. I’m too young, and the father isn’t in the picture, and besides, Queen is just starting to take off. I can’t ruin our chances by having a kid. I’m just not ready.”

Freddie smiles. “Ever the generous one, thinking of the band in a time like this.” 

Roger laughs gently. “I know we’re gonna make it one day. World tours. Wembley stadium.”

John runs a hand through the blonde’s hair.

“And this is what you want, Rog?”

Roger nods. “It is. I’m not ready. But there are plenty of families out there who could provide a home that I can’t.” His friends watch as he settles his hand on his stomach. 

There’s silence for a moment, Roger lost in thought. His decision wasn’t easy, but he knows deep down this is the best thing for him to do.

Freddie clears his throat. “In that case, we definitely need to make some changes around here. For one thing, no more cigarettes or alcohol for you, you’ve got a baby to keep healthy. Secondly, we are going to get some healthy food, and you’ve got to eat much more than you currently do, you’re so thin-”

As Freddie trails on about doctors appointments and how to minimize the loud concerts Roger is at for the foreseeable future, Roger feels himself smile. 

Brian gently pulls Roger’s hand up, holding it firmly. Roger meets his eyes and sniffles, gratitude clear on his face. John leans his head against Roger’s shoulder. 

It’s been a long 24 hours, and it’s shaping up to be a long 9 months, but Roger knows that he’s going to be fine as long as his friends are by his side.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snapshots from Roger's eventful pregnancy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You asked for it!
> 
> More tales of woe and angst for our favorite pregnant drummer. I definitely have more ideas but I wanted to go ahead and update with what I had so far!! Enjoy and drop a comment if you have any suggestions!

Snapshots

The hallway was loud with mirthful boys lugging amps and cases. Their set had gone very well, and the adrenaline that always followed a successful show was thrumming through them all, resulting in four bright, loud, energetic young men who couldn’t wait to get back to their flat and talk all about it. 

Pushing the door open, the bandmates rushed in, glad to be rid of the weight of the heavy equipment. Brian and Freddie, laughing about something, crashed on the couch while John settled in the armchair, a grin on his face. On instinct, Roger headed to the kitchen, opening the fridge and grabbing four beers. 

Heading back into the living room, Roger listened as Freddie waxed poetic about the woman that flashed them that evening. Setting the beers down on the coffee table, Roger settled back into his own chair, laughing at Freddie’s theatrics. He twisted the bottle cap off, bringing the bottle to his lips.

Before he could drink any, John’s voice shot out across the room. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!?” 

Roger looked up, Freddie now silent as all three of his bandmates looked at him. 

“You’re pregnant, for fuck’s sake, you can’t drink that!” John elaborated, since no one seemed to know what the hell he was on about.

Roger looked at his beer, quickly setting it down like it was poison.

“Oh my god.” Roger said. It was all he could think to get out. The pregnancy had been a heavy weight that he hadn’t stopped thinking about since he had found out a few weeks back. One of the reasons he had been so happy to do a show was because it took his mind off of his situation, if only for a few hours. Drinking after shows was a tradition, he was operating off muscle memory. 

He looked up, guilty. Freddie and Brian looked concerned, they must have been able to tell how distressed he was. 

John could tell, too. He rushed to reassure Roger.

“Hey, don’t worry about it, Rog. You didn't drink any. Besides, it’s only been a few weeks, it’ll take some time to get used to your condition.”

Brian and Freddie nodded in agreement, but Roger remained unconvinced. How was he going to keep this baby healthy if he couldn’t even remember not to drink alcohol? 

Roger’s bandmates exchanged looks. They’d known him long enough to know when he was starting to panic. John moved to Roger’s side, perching on his armchair.

Roger looked up at the feeling of a hand on his back. There was John, sweet John, giving him a reassuring smile and rubbing his back.

“Remember to breathe, love, alright? You’ve done nothing wrong. You’re ok.”

Roger shook his head, tears coming to his eyes.

“I’m an idiot, I shouldn’t be pregnant. It’s only a matter of time before I do something that’s gonna hurt the baby. I-”

“Roger, listen to me. You’re wrong about yourself. You’re an amazing person, you’re kind and smart and you have a big heart. You will not do anything to hurt this baby, you couldn’t if you tried. It’s not in your nature. Now look at me.”

Roger kept his eyes down.

“Sweetheart, please.”

Glancing up, Roger saw John’s eyes focus on his. John gently reached out and held Roger’s chin, keeping him from moving away. 

“You have done nothing wrong, and I won’t have you thinking poorly of yourself. It’s not good for you or the baby for you to be so stressed. Please be kinder to yourself, love.”

 

Roger nodded, tears falling down his face. John smiled, leaning over to press a kiss to Roger’s head, before springing up, hands on his hips.

“Good. Now that that’s settled, who wants pizza?”

\--

Roger was agitated. He couldn’t sit still. Brian was talking emphatically to his bandmates as they sat around their breakfast table, something about animal rights. Roger couldn’t care less. He hadn’t had a cigarette in four days, and he was ready to crawl out of his skin. 

A week earlier, when his bandmates had rallied around him and vowed to be supportive for the duration of his pregnancy, Roger was infinitely grateful.

That gratitude wore out a few hours later when Freddie confiscated his cigarettes.

Since then he had been miserable, deeply within the throng of nicotine withdrawal. He had mostly kept his complaints to himself, lest he scare his friends off. Deep down, Roger was scared his friends might still decide he wasn’t worth the trouble and leave. He didn’t want to do anything to give them reason to pull back. 

That was easier said than done, as at the moment Roger was somehow sweating and cold at the same time and just wanted some quiet as a headache was steadily growing. Before he knew what he was doing, his mouth was moving.

“Christ, Bri, can’t you see no one gives a shit? Just shut the fuck up.”

All eyes turned to him. Brian was quiet for a beat, confusion clear on his face, looking to be going between anger and sadness, before settling on anger. 

“Well I give a shit, Rog, thanks a lot. What the hell is wrong with you? You don’t have to be a bitch, just because it’s not about cars or tits doesn’t mean it’s worthless, you know.”

Ouch, that stung. John and Freddie were silent, watching the interaction between Roger and Brian. 

“Well if you weren’t talking so fucking loud I could just ignore you, but-”

“What the hell are you on about, I wasn’t being loud-”

“You’re practically screaming!”

“Okay, now I know you’re crazy.” Brian turned to Freddie and John in exasperation. “Do you see how crazy he is?”

John glanced from Brian to Roger, deep in thought. 

“Roger…” John began, beginning to piece together what was going on.

“What the hell do you want from me, anyway?” Brian continued, oblivious to John’s interjection.

“I want a fucking cigarette!” 

Silence rang through the room for a beat. A beat longer.

John was the first one to speak.

“Oh darling, is that what this is all about?” He asked, compassion heavy in his voice.

Roger nodded. “I haven’t had a cigarette in days, I went from smoking a pack a day to nothing. I feel terrible.”

His bandmates nodded sympathetically.

“I think you’re in withdrawal, Rog.” Brian said gently.

“Well how do I make it stop?” Roger asked, close to tears. He knew he must look pathetic, but he felt so miserable he almost didn’t care.

“Come here, love.” Freddie said, arms open. Roger stepped forward into Freddie’s arms and was engulfed in a hug. Freddie was gently swaying, petting Roger’s hair and murmuring in his ear.

John and Brian, operating on some unspoken understanding, hurried off, John to the kitchen to start a kettle and Brian to his bedroom to grab his fluffy blanket that Roger always stole. 

Back in the living room, Freddie had maneuvered Roger to the couch, and was rubbing soft circles on his back. 

Brian returned with the blanket, smiling as he saw Roger’s eyes light up. Settling down next to Roger, Brian bundled the blonde up in the blanket, planting a soft kiss on his forehead. John entered from the kitchen, a steaming mug in his hands. He gently set the mug on the coffee table in front of Roger, briefly squeezing the blonde’s hand and offering a soft smile. 

The four sat on the couch, softly reassuring and pampering Roger until the blonde fell asleep, leaning against Brian.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back baybee! This is kinda short but I really wanted to continue.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Leave a comment if you have anything you want to see our poor baby Rog experience!!!

Roger huffed, mouth quirked in concentration as he glared down at the jeans currently bunched around his thighs. He had been attempting to put this particular pair of pants on for the past few minutes, though his efforts remained unsuccessful thus far. He wasn’t stupid, he knew that eventually he would outgrow his clothes, he just didn’t think it would be this soon. Besides, Roger was prepared for his stomach to be the issue, and was confused- and more than a little embarrassed- that his jeans wouldn’t fit over the swell of his ass. 

His mates were never going to let him live it down.

What really confused Roger more than anything was just how his ass had gotten bigger. Sure, since the nausea had dissipated he had experienced a resurgence of hunger, and he would acknowledge that, as he entered his second trimester, his appetite had increased, but he hadn’t been eating that much. 

Right?

Thinking back, he winced as he recalled a particular night about a week back, when Roger had experienced an inexplicable craving for spaghetti, and the absolutely hilarious, pitiful sight that was his face when Brian had told him he’d made greek salads for dinner. Roger had been unable to stop the tears that gathered in his eyes, he really fucking wanted that spaghetti. Brian had looked shocked, frozen in place, before John rushed to console Roger, cooing gentle things in his ear and promising spaghetti if he stopped crying.

Roger’s tears disappeared nearly instantly, to the amusement of Freddie.

“Christ, Rog, that baby’s got you going crazy” The singer had teased.

Roger, engrossed in his newly acquired spaghetti, had just nodded, too pleased to argue.

Thinking back, he had eaten a lot of spaghetti. And that was not an isolated incident. Still, Roger felt that the rest of his body looked the same as it always had.

Sighing, Roger put the sweatpants he had slept in back on and headed out to the living room, resigned to the embarrassing conversation that was no doubt to follow. 

He was greeted by his friends, already dressed, sitting on or around the couch. Freddie opened his mouth to say something to Roger, but the words died as he took in Roger’s outfit.

“Why the hell are you wearing those?” 

Roger sighed. “My pants don’t fit.” 

Freddie’s face lit up in delight. 

“Are you showing? Let me see!” he said, rushing forward to pull Roger’s shirt up. He frowned as he was met with a flat stomach. Roger shoved Freddie’s hands away, pulling his shirt down indignantly. 

“I’m not showing, Fred. It’s…” He trailed off. Roger was a vain person, he could admit that, not overtly so, but he definitely took pride in his appearance. He didn’t exactly want to admit to his friends that he was getting fat. 

“It’s...?” Brian prompted, and Roger snapped back to reality, noticing three pairs of eyes on him. 

“The pants won’t fit over my ass, okay!” Roger admitted in a huff, face flushing.

There was a brief moment of silence, before Fred gently turned Roger around to look at his rear end.

“Well I’ll be damned, your ass is bigger!” 

“Fred!” Roger yelped, face turning even darker.   
John chuckled, and Roger shot him a look of betrayal. He was usually the one who got the others to stop their teasing, but he seemed to be enjoying mocking Roger this time.

“Way to help my already dwindling self esteem, guys.” Roger pouted. Freddie laughed, gathering the blonde in a hug. 

“Roger darling, you look as delicious as ever” Freddie soothed, planting a kiss on his head. “In fact, the extra padding makes you look absolutely delectable!” Freddie added, smacking Roger’s ass for good measure.

Brian, who had remained quiet thus far, chimed in.

“You really do look good, Rog. You’re glowing.” He smiled at the drummer, eyes genuine. Roger smiled. He always loved praise from his friends, but now that he was pregnant, and his own opinion of himself seemed to be in the toilet, he appreciated the compliments even more.

Plopping down on the couch next to John, Roger let out a loud sigh.

“I still need to get new clothes, apparently. Maybe I should just eat less-”

“No!” was the emphatic response to that comment. All three of his friends at the same time, no less. 

“Okay! It was just a thought.” Roger said weakly. Honestly, he didn’t think he’d be able to keep that up very long anyway, he was always ravenous now, except for the occasional bouts of nausea.

“You’re still too thin, Rog. I’m glad to hear you’re putting on weight. It’s what you’re supposed to do, you know. By now you should be putting on a pound a week.” John lectured, eyes skimming up and down Roger’s body.

Roger shoved down his horror at the thought of gaining a pound a week to eye John critically.

“And how exactly do you know that?” He inquired. He knew John liked children, but it wasn’t like he had any, not yet at least, and Roger didn’t think John was friends with too many other pregnant people.

John, bless him, turned his chin up defiantly to look Roger in the eye. “I bought a book.”

“You bought a book.” Roger parroted, face impossible to read.

“Yes. It’s very informative. It has a lot of information about the whole process, even past birth.”

Roger’s face remained impassive, and he said nothing. The silence stretched on, and though John felt the need to fill it, he said nothing, watching Roger’s face. Eventually, John stood up, retreating to his bedroom, before returning with a paperback book. He sat back down next to Roger, handing the book to his friend. 

Roger stared down at the book in the lap, still quiet. The glossy cover, on which was a picture of a smiling pregnant man, stared back up at him. Eventually, Brian spoke.

“I’ve read it too, Rog. It’s really interesting.”

“Me too.” Freddie chimed in, gaze nervously flitting between Roger and the book in his lap that he was having a staring contest with.

“You all read a book about pregnancy...for me.” Roger said, deadpan, and though it wasn’t phrased as a question John knew he was confused.

“Of course we did, love. We wanted to be prepared to help you in any way we could.” He smoothed a hand over Roger’s back, rubbing in soothing circles.

Roger nodded. Once. Twice. He then took a deep breath, and promptly burst into tears.

Brian blinked in alarm. Freddie jumped up, eager to stop the crying in any way he could.

“What’s wrong sweetheart? Did we say something to upset you?” Freddie asked nervously, hovering around Roger. 

Roger shook his head, still crying too hard to form a cohesive sentence, though he was clearly attempting to, the poor thing.

“I just love you guys so much!” Roger finally managed to get out, before returning to the sobs.

Brian and Freddie laughed, while John continued rubbing Roger’s back.

Finally, Roger’s sobs quieted to sniffles, and he made grabbing motions with his hands, indicating for Freddie and Brian to come closer. They willingly obliged, moving to squeeze onto the couch by Roger, careful not to jostle him. Roger hugged his friends tightly, feeling immeasurably grateful for their presence in his life.

They were quiet for a few moments, enjoying each others company, before a growl pierced through the silence. All eyes turned to Roger, who blushed.

“Is there any more of that spaghetti?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back baybee! Sorry for the insane delay. I actually saw Queen back in July and they were amazing! Totally incredible experience. 
> 
> I apologize if this chapter seems weird, I am still not sure where the plot of this story is going so I write whatever I feel would fit on any given day. 
> 
> Also be cautioned that this chapter deals with disordered eating. 
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy!

Roger and Freddie had bonded over their love of fashion when they first met. Sure, Freddie’s style was much more androgynous than Rog’s, but Roger found comfort in being able to talk openly about his interest without fear of ridicule. In fact, that was one of the things Roger loved most about Freddie, their conversations. 

He was not loving this one.

“The most important thing is comfort, obviously, but that’s no reason you can’t make it fun”

“Christ, Fred, I get it! Can we stop talking about fucking maternity clothes? I’m only 15 weeks along, I don’t need them yet!”

“And tea doesn’t need milk” Brian mumbled sarcastically from behind his book. John stifled a snort.

“I heard that!” Roger yelled over from the kitchen table, where he was currently seated with Freddie. 

Roger had been sitting there, minding his own business and enjoying the luxuries the shift into his second trimester had allowed (namely the vanishing of morning sickness) when Freddie trounced into the room, a magazine bunched in his hand.

He threw it down in front of Roger and promptly plopped down across from him, a look of expectation plain on his face. Roger had frowned in confusion and glanced down at the magazine, only to glimpse the phrase “maternity” and visibly flinch. 

Before he had a chance to protest, Fred was off, enthusiastically discussing patterns and fabrics, seemingly oblivious to Roger’s protests. 

After finally getting a word in edgewise (see: yelling at him to shut the fuck up), Freddie stared at him expectantly. Freddie didn’t even have the decency to blush.

“Look, hun, you are terribly skinny. So are your clothes. But you won’t be for much longer, so your clothes will obviously have to get with the times. Understand?”

Roger grumbled and nodded, embarrassed to think of his changing body. 

“Okay, good. Look, I’ll stop talking about it for now since it clearly makes you uncomfortable, but you’re going to have to accept that you will need new clothes, and judging by the effort those poor buttons on your shirt are exerting, it’s gonna have to be soon.”

“Hey!” Roger squeaked indignantly. This entire process seemed to be one whole humiliation. He tried to remind himself an actual human life was going to come of it, and that would make it worthwhile. Hopefully. 

~

That evening, Roger sat down tentatively at the dining table. He had slunked off to his room shortly after his conversation with Freddie that morning, and hadn’t come out since. John expressed particular worry, but Roger reassured him that he was feeling fine, just tired. 

In reality, Roger was anything but fine. Fred’s comments from that morning had been floating around in his head all day. Had he really gained that much weight? He knew from the books John had picked up that by the end of the pregnancy he should have gained close to thirty pounds (sweet Jesus) but he was in no rush to fulfill that requirement. 

It wasn’t like he was going to starve himself or anything. Roger chose to look at it as damage control. No reason to make it a big thing. He would just eat healthy, and manage his portions. He saw no need to eat more than he was before. The way he saw it, if he was healthy before, he would stay healthy.

Decision made, the blonde had headed to the dining table, reminding himself to take it easy on the food. 

“Hey, Rog.” Brian smiled, greeting him. 

Roger smiled back, hoping it was convincing. His smile quickly vanished when he saw John start to scoop what seemed to Roger to be a massive portion of pasta onto his plate. As he looked around at his friends’ plates, it was obvious his had the most. 

“I’m not too hungry, actually, Deaky. Thanks though.” He offered, hoping it was nonchalaunt enough for the overprotective bassist to not get suspicious. John fixed him with a look, but thankfully let the matter pass for the moment.

Conversation was light, and Roger allowed himself to relax and listen to the gentle sounds of Brian and John, mixed with the louder Freddie. It was alright. Things would be alright.

He just had to be careful.

~

He only managed to hide it for a week. A week. Sitting there, in that moment, with John fuming at him and a confused Freddie and Brian being let it on the situation, he felt more mad at himself than anything else.

It was his fault after all. He had made a stupid mistake that led to this particular moment.

It started a few hours ago, after what would have been lunch time, had Roger eaten anything. Brian was at the grocery story, and Freddie was off doing who knows what, so it had just been Roger and John in the small apartment. 

Roger had been laying across the couch, his feet in John’s lap. Roger had discovered, to his delight, that with enough pestering John would rub his feet. It was far more enjoyable than Roger felt it had any right to be, but, well. His feet hurt more now than he could ever remember. 

John had glanced at the clock and mentioned something about getting lunch, and Roger had replied that he wasn’t hungry. John had seemed confused, so Roger said he’d had a big breakfast.

That was his first mistake. John had been with him at breakfast that morning, when all he had was a granola bar and some tea.

John had sat up, a suspicious look forming on his face.

“Roger, when was the last time you ate a full meal?”

Roger blanched.

“Last night” he lied, hoping desperately that John would let the issue go, as he had done at dinner the week before.

It did not appear John was so inclined.

“You didn’t eat a full meal last night! You skipped dinner. Come to think of it, I can’t remember the last time you didn’t claim to not be hungry!”

Roger gulped. John’s face was a mixture of confusion and worry. Roger watched as recognition lit John’s features, before slowly becoming rage. Oh god. Here it comes.

“Roger Meddows Taylor, have you been deliberately not eating?!”

Roger blinked.

“No?”

“That shouldn’t be a question.” 

“Alright, fine! Yes, okay? I’ve been eating a little less. I don’t see why it has to be a big deal!”

John looked incredulous. “It has to be a big deal because it is a big deal, Roger! Do I need to remind you that you are pregnant?”

“Oh, believe me, Freddie did a good enough job of that last week!”

John paused. The tension hung in the room.

“Last week...when he talked to you about maternity clothes?”

Roger nodded.

“Oh for fuck’s sake Roger. It wasn’t a personal attack!” John was on his feet, glaring down at Roger who was sitting on the couch, feeling more and more like a child being scolded by the minute.

“I know that! It’s just that I was comfortable with the way I looked, and ever since I found out I was pregnant, all I can think about is how that’s going away! Freddie loves to go on about how much bigger I’m getting, and you and Brian just laugh because it’s funny to you, but to me it feels like the only good thing about me is gone, and what’s left? Just a stupid, fat slut who doesn’t even know the name of the father of his child!” Roger cried, panting by the end of his rant. He had gotten to his feet somewhere in the middle of it.

John’s anger seemed to lessen almost instantaneously.

“Is that really how you feel about yourself?”

Roger didn’t know what to say, so he nodded.

Thirty minutes and two phone calls later, Roger was sitting on the couch watching John get angry again as he recounted their conversation to Freddie and Brian. 

They both looked upset. Great.

After they were filled in came the interrogation. John was the leader, of course. Brian seemed content to play good cop. Freddie seemed to still be making his mind up.

“In the past week, did you ever eat when you weren’t with somebody?” 

Roger hesitated, then shook his head. 

“Christ.” He heard Brian mumble. Freddie squeezed his arm.

“When was the last time you had an actual meal?” 

Roger paused. It maybe should have concerned him that he couldn’t honestly remember off the top of his head, but he was still stubbornly frustrated that he had been caught, and didn’t want to agree with John about anything.

“Two days ago at lunch.” 

Brian quietly got up and headed to the kitchen, quickly returning with an apple and a pack of crisps. He handed them to Roger wordlessly and sat back down. John watched the interaction, before stalking out of the room.

Roger stared at the food, hoping he could convince them to hold off on feeding him for another hour or so, when John returned with the scale.

Roger paled. No way was he going on that.

He quickly stood up, letting the food fall to the floor, forgotten. 

“No.” He said before John had a chance to open his mouth.

“Yes, Rog. We need to know how much weight you’ve lost so we know how to get you back where you’re supposed to be.”

Looking around, Roger realized he was trapped. He couldn’t run with three people surrounding him. Besides, where would he go?

He steeled himself, and stepped up onto the scale. When the scale beeped, he looked down, feeling a rush of relief that he was three pounds lighter than the last time he had weighed himself five days ago. 

“Jesus” Brian huffed, looking at the scale. 132. John looked like he was going to cry for a brief moment, but just like that the look was gone, replaced with a steely sort of determination that, coming from John Deacon, meant no good.

“Right, Roger. I think we need to have a long conversation.”


End file.
